


i've got the strangest feeling (this isn't our first time around)

by tamquams



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, M/M, Pining, Pre-Canon, Ronan Lynch POV, adam is adam and ronan is ronan and gansey is angry, i wrote this before starting call down the hawk, noah is the mvp like always, surprisingly little swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22857409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamquams/pseuds/tamquams
Summary: Weeks came and went and Ronan went to Mass every Sunday and repented. He went to confession and asked for forgiveness, an act he refused to commit outside of a church. He told God about the new boy and his elegant hands and high cheekbones and the freckles on the back of his neck. He prayed for absolution, mostly, but every once in a while he asked God for something else. Something he couldn’t have.Sometimes, he asked God for a conversation with the new boy.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 25
Kudos: 174





	i've got the strangest feeling (this isn't our first time around)

Ronan Lynch did not make a habit of noticing people. It had taken a lot of time and skill to develop his reputation as disinterested and untouchable, and he planned on upholding said reputation, thank you very much. 

And then junior year started.

Junior year at Aglionby was going to be absolute torture: college tours and SAT prep, AP testing and tennis practice, grieving and Glendower. Ronan’s schedule was packed tight with items like _argue with Declan_ and _drag-race at midnight_ and _nod along to Gansey’s monologues._ He certainly didn’t have time to be noticing people, or, God forbid, thinking about them.

And then he walked into Latin the first day of junior year and saw the new kid.

There were new students at Aglionby every year, of course, rich boys coming and going without a care in the world. With the exception of Gansey, they rarely stood out; they all had similar hair, similar voices, similar cars, similar backstories. Ronan Lynch was not interested in his classmates in the slightest. He did not care where they summered, or Christmas-ed, or spring break-ed. He tuned out of any conversation that featured the words _girl_ or _chick_ or _hot_ or _banged_. Even before his father’s death, none of these things had mattered to him. Now, he cared about nothing at all, except his younger brother, and _maybe_ Gansey.

But. But.

On the first day of junior year, a boy that Ronan had never seen before was sitting at the very front of the classroom. Everything about him was out of place, from his threadbare backpack to his fraying sweater to his slightly-uneven haircut. He did not introduce himself with a firm handshake and a wry grin, nor did he clap his classmates on the shoulder and raucously debate the merits of Ibiza versus St. Tropez. In fact, he said absolutely nothing at all.

The boy made absolutely no effort to socialize with his classmates. Ronan watched day after day as the boy came to class, silently did his work, and left. He did not laugh at jokes. He did not cheat on tests. He only spoke when asked a direct question or after raising his hand. He turned in every assignment on time and did every bit of extra credit that was offered.

He missed an interesting amount of school.

In all honesty, Ronan wasn’t sure why he was paying so much attention. Maybe it was because the boy looked more like a Renaissance painting than a private school student, all desaturated hair and thin eyebrows and summer-sky blue eyes and full pink lips. Maybe it was because of his silence, his studious nature, his avoidance of any and all conversation. Maybe it was because he was so obviously a scholarship student. Maybe it was because every once in a while the boy would come back after missing a week and have just the faintest yellow tinge of a mostly-healed bruise underneath an eye.

Maybe it was just because Ronan was a fucking creep. 

Every day, he told himself that the next glance would be the last. That he would look at the boy for just a few moments longer and then revert back to his usual thoughtlessness, maybe glower at somebody he disliked or carve bad Latin jokes into his desk. But he could never seem to pull his eyes away. 

It was getting out of hand.

Weeks came and went and Ronan went to Mass every Sunday and repented. He went to confession and asked for forgiveness, an act he refused to commit outside of a church. He told God about the new boy and his elegant hands and high cheekbones and the freckles on the back of his neck. He prayed for absolution, mostly, but every once in a while he asked God for something else. Something he couldn’t have.

Sometimes, he asked God for a conversation with the new boy.

It was early October when God finally graced Ronan with an answer.

“Ronan!” Gansey greeted him as soon as Ronan had stomped through the front door. It was the voice he greeted all of his friends with; that was, to say, Ronan and Noah and the entire rowing crew. He always sounded like he was seeing an old friend for the first time in decades. To anyone other than Ronan, it was endearing.

Ronan put a lot of effort into having no opinion on it at all.

“Gansey,” he grunted by way of reply, slamming the door. It was not an angry slam, or even a frustrated slam. It was just a Ronan slam. Its function was neither to intimidate nor to communicate; it had no function at all. Many of Ronan’s habits and characteristics were purposely meaningless. 

“Have you met Ronan?” Gansey’s voice said behind him, and Ronan frowned as he turned, already dreading whatever outcast his friend had chosen to adopt now. Gansey did not historically have the best taste in friends — for example, he had chosen Ronan.

Everything would have been easier had Ronan turned around to see Henry Cheng or Tad Carruthers sitting on the floor beside Gansey’s model of Henrietta. Then, Ronan could have just rolled his eyes and snarled something unpleasant and stomped to his bedroom until the boy left. It would have been very clean and uncomplicated, and he would not have had to endure more than ten minutes of Gansey scolding him before they agreed to never invite the boy over again. 

But it was not Henry Cheng or Tad Carruthers looking up at him from Gansey’s side.

It was the new boy.

“No,” the new boy said to Gansey in a very soft voice. The look on his face as he looked Ronan up and down was equal parts apprehension and curiosity. He stood slowly, dusted off his pants, and extended a hand. In a serious fit of cosmic irony, he said, “Nice to meet you. I’m Adam Parrish.”

Ronan blinked. His entire mind emptied, and all he could think was _1 Corrinthians 15:45 The first man Adam became a living thing_ and _define parish: a parish is a local church community_ and _I have stared at those hands every day for a month and a half and he’s holding one out for me and if I touch it I think I might actually catch on fire_ and _Thank you God thank you God thank you God_ and then, much to his dismay, Adam was retracting his hand, a shadow crossing his face. 

“God, Ronan,” muttered Gansey from where he was crouched on the floor. “No need to be rude.” He cleared his throat, turned his famous Gansey smile to Adam. “Don’t mind him, he’s like this with everyone.”

Adam nodded, his eyes still trained on Ronan. All at once he looked both offended and carefree, uncertain and knowing, angry and resigned. If you looked up the word _paradox_ in the dictionary, the definition would have simply been _Adam Parrish_.

Ronan had definitely been staring for too long. He was aware of this and yet helpless to stop it. It was a very rare thing for Ronan to feel genuinely _helpless_ , to be unable to control himself. It was a feeling reserved for finding dead bodies and fighting night horrors. This was neither of those things, he reminded himself. This was simply a boy.

It was somehow almost worse.

“You have Whelk first period,” Adam said, his voice all soft vowels and drawn-out syllables.

Ronan nodded.

“You’re good.”

This comment was such a surprise that it kickstarted Ronan’s entire brain. As his neurons began firing again, he swallowed hard, very aware of how Adam’s eyes followed the movement. Ronan gave him a sharp grin. “Ronan Lynch,” he said, finally unfreezing from his spot by the door. He crossed the room slowly, letting Adam’s eyes follow him all the way to the entrance to his room. “You Gansey’s newest stray?”

Something flickered on Adam’s face, something like anger or offense or pain. He stuffed his hands in his pocket, opened his mouth to say something, and was interrupted by Gansey.

“ _Ronan_ ,” Gansey repeated, glaring at him over the metal frame of his glasses. “Down, boy.” 

“What?” asked Ronan, feigning innocence. “Am I not allowed to talk to my replacement?”

“ _Ronan._ ” This was Gansey’s least Gansey-like voice, but also his _most_ Gansey-like voice, depending on which Gansey you were referring to. It was nothing at all like Richard Campbell Gansey III’s normal voice, but it was very similar to that of Richard Campbell Gansey II. It commanded respect, it made ornery private school boys stand down, it said _if you do not stop being rude right now there will be consequences._

Ronan Lynch respected Gansey, but he was not designed to stand down or worry about consequences.

“I’m just sayin’, _Dick_ , as far as replacements go, I approve. I’m a pitbull, but you’ve always preferred lapdogs.”

Gansey stood then, his eyes dark and his mouth set. “Go,” he said to Ronan. “ _Now_.”

Ronan knew he should just turn and walk into his bedroom and close the door quietly — he was a much more frightening beast when he _wasn’t_ slamming doors — and just sulk in his bed until Adam left, but his entire world felt off-kilter. His life was unbalanced, and the only way to achieve true equilibrium was to pick a fight.

“Why?” he asked, drawing the word out far longer than necessary. “I’m not bothering you, am I?” He directed this second question to Adam, who was still staring at him with that strange look, his fists clenched at his sides.

“No,” Adam said, and Ronan had the fleeting thought that it wasn’t a lie. 

Gansey ripped his gaze from Ronan. “You don’t have to—” he began.

“You heard him, Gansey,” said Ronan, his teeth bared. “I think Parrish can speak for himself.”

“ _Adam_ ,” Gansey seethed, his eyes shooting daggers at Ronan.

There was nothing frightening about Gansey at all, no matter how angry he was. Ronan had _nice_ dreams that were scarier than Gansey’s fury.

“Parrish is fine,” said Adam in a low voice. Gansey whipped around to give Adam a look that said _whose side are you even on?_ and then took a slow, furious step toward Ronan.

“No,” Gansey growled, “His name is _Adam_ , and he saved my _ass_ on the way to school this morning. He is my _guest_ and my _friend_ , and you, _Ronan_ , will show him the _respect_ that he _deserves_.”

Ronan took one step forward as well. “Well, now, that doesn’t really sound like me, does it?” he said, voice acidic.

“What. Is. Your. Problem?”

“What _isn’t_ my problem?”

“This isn’t _funny_ , Ronan, for crying out—”

“Sorry, _Dad_ , I didn’t realize—”

“Oh my _God_ ,” another voice interjected. Ronan turned, a barrage of cruel remarks on the tip of his tongue, and snapped his mouth shut at the last second with an audible _click_. Standing in front of Adam, his shoulders sagging and his eyes rolling, was the third and final inhabitant of Monmouth Manufacturing: Noah.

Loathe as he was to admit it, Ronan had something of a soft spot for Noah. He was quite easy to get along with, as far as roommates went: clean, quiet, never ate Ronan’s food from the refrigerator. He was a little shy, soft around the edges, but always eager to participate in troublemaking with Ronan. Now, however, he was decidedly _not_ on Ronan’s side. He didn’t seem to be on Gansey’s side, either, though; his body was angled in a way that seemed to be protecting Adam from the both of them.

“I’m hungry,” Noah announced, which was an incredibly noteworthy sentence since Ronan had not seen him eat once in the many months he had known him. “Can we go to Nino’s?”

Gansey swiveled toward Noah very quietly, his chest rising and falling in a slow, controlled rhythm. He regarded his roommate for a moment, then broke into the kind of smile that only Gansey could manage while seconds away from combusting. “Sure, Noah,” he said, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension in them. Noah lifted a hand and Gansey’s keychain was hanging from his middle finger. Gansey swiped it easily and headed for the door. 

“Come on, gang,” he called over his shoulder at Adam and Ronan. Ronan was still near his door, grinding his teeth. Adam remained beside the miniature city, his own jaw twitching.

They stared at each for a long, uneasy moment.

Ronan was the first to break. He exhaled deeply, popped his neck, and moved toward the door. On his way across the room, he stopped beside Adam, raised an eyebrow and said, “Are you coming?”

Adam paused, nodded, and then paused again, as if he was waiting for Ronan to do or say something awful.

Ronan just draped an arm around Adam’s shoulders in a very friendly, un-Ronan-like gesture. “You’re sitting in the back with Noah,” he said gruffly, guiding Adam to the door.

Adam shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Better than sitting next to you,” he replied easily, like bantering with Ronan was a normal occurrence in his life.

From there on out, it was.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this instead of working on my wesper wip, oops. i started call down the hawk like, yesterday, so i know it isn't necessarily canon-compliant but i had already started it and liked it too much to abandon. anyway, thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed this, you are more than welcome to message me, follow me, request something, etc on tumblr! i'm @wespers :) p.s. title comes from past lives by børns!


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